“I don’t picture us having a banister,” she replies thoughtfully. “I think I just want a small apartment. It’s easier to keep clean.”

“You’re getting me excited, Ella May,” I proclaim.

“I’m glad. I want you to be excited.” She bites down on her lip. “I’m scared though. I mean this is huge, you know.”

I’m glad she admits it to me. “Me too, but then I think about how we’re going to have the ‘no clothes on inside the house’ rule and I just get happy again.”

She rolls her eyes and combs her fingers through her hair. “If you don’t end up moving to California, then what are you going to do?”

“We are going to get are own place eventually no matter where we live,” I say and kiss her forehead. “You may think it’s fast, but you got to remember that technically you and I have been living together since we were kids. I mean, we barely left each other’s side since we were six.” I pause as tears abruptly fill her eyes. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She wipes the tears away with the back of her hand. “It’s nothing. I just really want it to work out.”

Hugging her against me, I rest my chin on top of her head and gently rub her back. “It will, and you want to know why?” I ask and she nods. “Because most people go into this blind. They don’t know the bad side of the person they’re with. But we know each other’s flaws and cracks—we know what we’re getting into and that makes us stronger.”

“I really do love you.” She tightens her arms around me.

“I love you too,” I reply, trailing kisses down her neck. “More than anything.”

Chapter 19

Ella

I’m proud of myself for telling the truth to Micha and for not worrying too much during the trip, at least so far. By the time I’m dressed and walking out of my room, I’m feeling kind of happy. When I enter the kitchen, however, my good feeling deflates.

Caroline is by the stove, with her black hair wound up out of her face, stirring a pan with an apron tied around her waist. Micha is over by the microwave waiting for the butter to heat up, wearing a pair of jeans that hang loosely at his hips and his blond hair is a little damp still from the shower. Dean is at the table, in slacks and a button-down shirt, and he’s peeling off the husk of the corn on the cob.

“We brought them with us,” he explains when he notices me staring at the corn. “Caroline wanted them.”

“Oh. Okay.” I turn to Caroline. “What still needs to be cooked?”

She shoos me away with her free hand. “You are not cooking anything.”

I pick up a spoon off the counter. “I always cook Christmas dinner.”

“Which is why it always sucked,” Dean remarks under his breath as he tosses a husk into the garbage.

“I did my best,” I say. “And it’s not like I wanted to. No one else would. And half the time no one would eat it.”

Caroline turns the stove’s temperature down. “You are not cooking this year. It’s not right that you’ve spent your whole life taking care of everyone else.”

I glance over my shoulder at Micha. “What have you been telling her?”

The microwave beeps and he opens the door. “I didn’t tell her anything.”

Perplexed, I look at my brother. “Did you…”

Rolling his eyes, he tosses a cob into a large crockpot on the table. “Look, all I did was mention that you cooked for us almost everyday while I was growing up.”

Caroline smiles as she covers the pan with a lid. “He’s been seeing someone about his anger issues.”

My eyes dart back to Dean, waiting for him to snap at her, but he just shrugs and grabs another cob on the corn that needs to be shucked.

“We’ll cook dinner.” Caroline signals for Dean to add something.

He lets out a frustrated breath. “You should go out and do something fun. Be a kid for a change or whatever. We’ll get things ready for when dad arrives.”

“How is he even getting here?” I ask, setting the spoon down on the counter. “He doesn’t have a car.”

“His counselor is dropping him off,” Caroline explains, plugging in the mixer. “I guess he lives about an hour away from here.”

She starts to hum as she mixes some orange stuff in a bowl. Dean focuses on the corn and I stand there unsure of what to do with myself. Finally I glance at Micha for help.

“We could go out to Back Road and spin some doughnuts,” he suggest, setting the butter down on the counter.

“Your car’s not made to spin doughnuts,” I say as he walks toward me. “Hence the last time we got stuck.”

“I got chains we can put on it if it gets stuck.” He steals a marshmallow out of an open bag on the counter. “Besides I need a few dents in that tainted car to make it whole again.” He tosses a marshmallow at me and I open my mouth to catch it, but it pegs me in the forehead.

“But I love your car.” I pick up the marshmallow and toss it into the trash. “I don’t want to see it ruined.”

“I loathe it now,” he annunciates. “My father has officially tainted it.”

“If you want to ruin it,” Dean chimes in, “there’s a sledge hammer in the garage.”

“That’s okay,” Micha replies in a clipped tone as he snatches the bag of marshmallows and tugs me toward the door. Micha has never liked Dean very much. “I got another idea.”

I grab my jacket off the door hanger and giggle as he hauls me toward the fence. He hops over it effortlessly, and then he picks me up by the waist and lifts me over easily.

“What’s your big idea?” I say breathlessly as he leads us toward the garage and snow fills my shoes. “Running it into a wall, racing it until the engine explodes?”

He lets out his evil villain laugh as he opens the garage door. “We’re going to spin doughnuts dangerous style.”

I shake my head quickly. “No way. Last time, I almost got a concussion when you rammed the snowbank.”

“Well, you better man up.” He opens up the passenger door for me. “Because it’s gonna get intense.”

I duck my head into the cab and drop into the seat. “I don’t man up. I’m a dainty little girl.”

He snorts a sharp laugh. “Okay, if you say so.”

He slams the door and circles the front of the car. His gaze fleetingly lands on the twelve pack nestled on the shelf between the toolbox and oil. When he spots me looking at him, he grins and gets in the car, pushing the garage door opener latched onto the visor. Punching the gas, he peels out down the driveway, skidding from left to right and fishtailing it when we hit the icy road.

“Can you do me a favor?” I ask as he cranks the wheel.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he answers straitening out the car.

“Can you try not to kill us?” I say, cranking up the heat. “Now that we’ve started planning a future, I kind of want to have one.”

Ethan and Lila follow us up to Back Road in Ethan’s truck. The sky is cloudy but silent from the snow drifting to the ground. About halfway up to the old racing spot. Micha has to get out and put the chains on the tires. Watching him bend over and get them on is very entertaining because his pants keep slipping down on his hips. When he catches me checking him out, he winks at me and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. I turn in my seat, smiling to myself.

After we make it to the end of the road, Micha gets out and takes the chains back off so we can “spin doughnuts dangerous style,” as he put it. Ethan parks his truck near a snowbank and Lila and he climb into the car with us. The area in front of us is open and packed with snow. Icicles hang from the branches of the trees that border around us and the roof of The Hitch, a rundown brick building that was once a restaurant, has caved in.

With his hand on the steering wheel and his eyes locked ahead, Micha pumps the gas and a cloud of smoke puffs out the exhaust. The tires spin and I cover my eyes with my hands.

“What’s wrong?” he wonders with humor. “Where’s my dangerous girl tonight?”

“I’m having a hard time with the fact that you’re going to destroy the car.” I peek between my fingers. “It’s just too tragic.”

“I’m not going to destroy it.” He picks up his iPod and hands it to me. “You want to do the honors?”

I take it and scroll through the selection, finally clicking on “Face to the Floor” by Chevelle.

Micha grins. “Excellent choice.”

My hand instantly shoots for the side of the seat and I prop my foot up on the dash as I slouch down.

“El, what are you doing?” Lila peers around the seat at me. “And what the hell is this music?”

“It’s Chevelle,” Ethan says like she should know.

She arches her eyebrows as she sinks back in the seat. “Okay…”

“Just put your seatbelt on,” I instruct as Micha laughs, revving the engine.

She obeys, quickly clicking it on and Ethan leans forward, resting his elbows on the console. “Don’t hit the fucking snowbank like last time. I don’t want a concussion again.”

Ethan and I trade looks because the concussion involved him and me smacking heads upon impact.

“I got this,” Micha assures us confidently, shifting into drive. “At least I think… if anyone wants to bail out, now is the time.”

We target an assumption at Lila.

“Hey, I’m not a wimp.” She places her hand over her heart, offended. “And I’m staying in.”

Micha pushes the gas pedal and the tires spin. We lunge forward, slowly speeding up and swerving all over the place as the car battles against the deep snow. Frost flurries around the car as he shifts into a higher gear and accelerates, heading for the end of a road that’s blocked off by a massive snow hill. Shutting my eyes, I wait for it because I know it’s coming. It happens every single time.